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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25640203">Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_homosexual/pseuds/flaming_homosexual'>flaming_homosexual</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Good Omens One-Shots [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Confessions, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Love Confessions, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Scene: Soho 1967 (Good Omens), Singing, Song: Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:29:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25640203</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_homosexual/pseuds/flaming_homosexual</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley becomes friends with young Freddie Bulsara shortly after his meeting with Aziraphale in 1967. One night while Crowley is venting to Freddie, Fred turns his feelings into a song. Soon enough the song reaches and unsuspecting, pining angel across town.</p><p>CW: Mild mentions of homophobia, heated making out</p><p>A/N: THIS STORY IS NOT REFLECTIVE OF THE HISTORICAL FIGURE’S ACTUAL ACTIONS, THIS IS FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) &amp; Freddie Mercury, Crowley (Good Omens)/Freddie Mercury</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Good Omens One-Shots [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858720</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I go too fast for him?” Crowley threw his arms in the air from his lying position. “It’s been six thousand years!”</p><p>Up-and-coming rock musician Freddie Mercury nodded at his friend of nine years’s sentiment. He sat on the plush leather seat in front of the piano Crowley was laying on, plucking out a few chords as his friend went on about his lover. Friend? Freddie wasn’t sure, and frankly he didn’t care. After all, their meeting wasn’t the most heterosexual scenario.</p><p> </p><p>••••</p><p> </p><p>It was a clear night in 1967 and Crowley had gone out for a drink, per usual. His favorite bar wasn’t too far from where he’d settled in Soho. It was an underground bar for homosexual people to meet other gays, frequently used as a place for dates and hookups. On this clear English night that left Crowley shivering he entered the bar that was exactly what he was looking for; a distraction.</p><p>Crowley rolled up in his Bentley, parking it around the corner from the bar. He’d styled himself quite nicely in anticipation, his red hair swept downward, neatly yet alluringly unkempt. His clothing was jet-black—as always—accentuating Crowley’s slim, androgynous figure. Topping it off with his signature black sunglasses, Crowley had to admit he was feeling—what the humans called—“sexy.”</p><p>He sauntered over to the bar with a swagger, head and shoulders held high in his velvet blazer. He ordered himself a few drinks and lurked in the corner waiting for his date (or was it a fling?). Crowley scanned the crowd for a dark haired mustachioed man by the name of Freddie Bulsara.</p><p>“Hello,” a man matching that description approached Crowley, “Are you Anthony?”</p><p>Crowley nodded, handing the man a drink. “Anthony J. Crowley at your service.”</p><p>The man, Freddie, took a long swig of alcohol.</p><p>“Might I say you look absolutely ravishing, Mr. Crowley.”</p><p>Crowley cringed, “Anthony is fine, thank you.”</p><p>“So Anthony,” Fred swished the drink around in the glass, “Where’re you from?”</p><p>“Not too far from here, London Soho,” Crowley sipped his wine, “And you?”</p><p>“Middlesex,” Fred replied. “What do you do for a living?”</p><p><em> Great question, </em>Crowley thought, desperately searching for a profession he could easily fake knowledge in. He sighed; this was going to be embarrassing. </p><p>“I’m a florist,” he mumbled. Fred chuckled, leaning his head into his hand.</p><p>“Sorry,” Fred gestured to Crowley’s dark attire, “That’s just not what I expected.”</p><p>Crowley shrugged, “Get that a lot. How about you?”</p><p>“I’m studying graphic art and design at Ealing Art College, and I’m set to graduate in a couple of years.”</p><p>Crowley’s eyes widened behind his shades, “You’re a college student? I must be too old for you.”</p><p><em> You’re too old for anyone regardless, </em>Crowley thought, chuckling.</p><p>“Goodness, no,” Freddie waved off his concern, “I’m nearly thirty.”</p><p>Crowley gasped, “Never would have guessed.”</p><p>“‘M flattered.”</p><p>Crowley leant on the table, “So why’d you agree to meet here, anyway?”</p><p>Fred shrugged, “Needed to get out, needed a break. You seemed a nice fellow, and quite attractive, too.”</p><p>Crowley chuckled; he’d asked Fred here as a date. He figured this would be a good way to get Aziraphale off his mind.</p><p>“If I may ask,” Fred broke Crowley from his thoughts, “Why are you wearing those glasses? Surely you can’t see a thing.”</p><p>“M’eyes are weird,” Crowley brushed it off. “I assure you, you wouldn’t like them.”</p><p>Fred leant over the table, very few inches left between himself and the demon.</p><p>“Try me.”</p><p>Crowley sighed. Fred’s eyes were full of unwavering determination; he wasn’t letting this go. The demon groaned, lifting his glasses only for a moment. Fred inhaled sharply and grinned.</p><p>“Anthony, they’re fascinating!”</p><p>Crowley shrugged, blushing. “Thanks.”</p><p>They discussed Freddie’s career path and his passion for wanting to be in a band someday. He pulled out a tattered notebook filled to the brim with song lyrics and even sang a little for Crowley. As much as Crowley didn’t want to admit it, his voice was incredibly charming. Freddie had this charisma and confidence about him that Crowley couldn’t shake; it was intoxicating. Crowley couldn’t help getting lost in the musician’s eyes and running a finger up and down his forearm.</p><p>“Do you want to get out of here?” Crowley asked.</p><p>“God yes.”</p><p>Crowley dragged Fred out of the bar, the duo rushing to his Bentley. Crowley ushered Fred into the backseat, not trailing far behind. With a quick snap of his fingers the windows of the Bentley were magically tinted. Freddie didn’t think much of it, pulling Crowley down and kissing him.</p><p>Satan, Freddie’s lips were magic. Why did they have to feel so good? Everywhere he kissed tingled moments after they left Crowley’s skin. He couldn’t help letting loose quiet groans as Freddie kissed his way down Crowley’s neck, stopping at his collarbone to nip at his skin. Crowley stripped off his turtleneck and discarded his glasses somewhere on the floor of the Bentley. He leaned forward, grabbing Fred’s shirt and pulling it off. Crowley couldn’t help but gawk at his toned, masculine figure.</p><p>Guilt began bubbling in Crowley’s gut. Although he and Aziraphale weren’t together Crowley couldn’t help but feel bad making out with another man. Crowley felt nimble, muscular hands find their way to his bare chest, pinching and flicking his nipples every which way. What made Crowley feel worse is he moaned, throwing his head back in ecstacy.</p><p>Before Fred went any further Crowley moved back, avoiding the man’s eyes.</p><p>“Anthony,” he kissed the demon’s cheek, “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“I can’t do this.”</p><p>Freddie immediately took his hands off Crowley, quietly inquiring, “Why not?”</p><p>“Well…”</p><p>Crowley spent the better part of an hour trying to explain Aziraphale (or A.Z. Fell, as he called himself on Earth) and their relationship to Freddie. Crowley said he didn’t want to be in a relationship with Freddie, which he respected. The demon in disguise drove Freddie home. They found they still got along quite nicely so before Fred got out of the Bentley he passed Crowley a scrap of paper with his phone number.</p><p>“Call me if you need a friend, darling.” Freddie smiled.</p><p>Crowley made sure to take him up on that offer.</p><p> </p><p>••••</p><p> </p><p>“Anthony,” Fred said, “Perhaps A.Z.  just needs some more time.”</p><p>Although they had been friends for so long Crowley never told Freddie that he was an ethereal being that had been around since the dawn of time. It would be one thing to tell Fred and a whole other for him to believe and accept that news. Freddie just assumed his friend was being over-dramatic with the whole “six thousand years” spiel. Nonetheless, he wanted to help.</p><p>Crowley lied back on the piano, looking at Fred from his upside down position.</p><p>“He’s so old fashioned,” Crowley groaned, “it’s infuriating. After he said I go too fast he suggested we go on a picnic someday, or dine at the Ritz. I’m going too fast and he says that? It’s maddening, it is.”</p><p>“Well,” Freddie scribbled something in his songwriting notebook, “Have you ever established how you both feel?”</p><p>Crowley scoffed, “‘Course not, Fred! We’ve had hundreds of meals and afternoons together but we’ve never discussed how we feel.”</p><p>Fred cocked his eyebrow.</p><p>“This may be a dumb question, but how do you feel about him?”</p><p>“I love him, Fred!” Crowley declared, “And I hate that I love him! Everything would be so much easier if I didn’t.”</p><p>Freddie leaned over and made eye contact with his friend, “We can’t control who we love, darling. There’s nothing wrong with it! You love another man? So what; if you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”</p><p>Crowley shook his head, “You don’t understand. Our...families are quite against it. They don’t even know we know each other.”</p><p>Fred nodded.</p><p>“And I,” Crowley found himself rambling, “I can’t stop thinking about him. I want to, believe me, I just can’t help it. We’ve been around each other so long but there’s still so much I want to do with him. I want to take him out on a date, do anything with him, really. A nice meal, a walk in St. James’s Park, holding him close…” Crowley melted at the thought, nearly forgetting Freddie was there too. “Driving back to his place in the Bentley, maybe I’d even let him pick the music,” Crowley chuckled. “None of this would ever happen. I mean, I don’t even know how to tell him I love him.”</p><p>“You could always write him,” Freddie suggested, picking out a few chords and humming to himself. “You don’t even need to send it, maybe it’ll be nice to put it on paper.”</p><p>Crowley sighed, “Maybe.” He turned, sitting over the edge of the piano, legs crossed in Freddie’s direction. “What are you working on?”</p><p>“New song,” Fred shrugged, scribbling down a couple more lyrics.</p><p>“About?”</p><p>“Something that might help you, darling.”</p><p>Freddie smiled emphasizing his secrecy with a wink. Crowley freaked internally, quietly demanding he see what Fred’s up to before this song reaches the radio. With Queen’s success Crowley knew it would reach the radio, which also meant Aziraphale would hear it. Freddie chuckled, giving in and handing Crowley his open, back-broken notebook.</p><p>The notes scribbled on the page were in neat, lovely cursive. Freddie was clearly an attentive listener—one of the things that made him an incredible friend—he had written down nearly everything that Crowley vented to him. In the fifteen minutes they had conversed Fred already began to write a chorus. </p><p>Crowley was flattered and appalled. On one hand one of the best songwriters of the century (and a good friend of his) is writing a song about him and Aziraphale. They would be immortalized through music! On the other hand, Freddie was in such a high-profile band the song would surely reach Aziraphale, and as dense as the angel could be he wasn’t stupid.</p><p>“This is sweet Fred, but I could never let A.Z. hear it.”</p><p>“Why?” Fred asked, “Doesn’t he know we’re friends?”</p><p>“Yes,” Crowley sighed, “And he would know the song was about him.”</p><p>Fred cocked his head to the side, “But didn’t you say you wanted to let him know how you feel?”</p><p><em> He does have a point, </em>Crowley pondered. </p><p>He considered the consequences, what if hell found out? Worse off, what if Heaven found out? With Hell Crowley could easily pass off the song as promotion of homosexuality causing temptations among millions of people across the world, but Heaven? If they knew it was a love song from Crowley to Aziraphale...it wouldn’t be a happy ending.</p><p>But how likely is it that Heaven would find out?</p><p>Crowley decided he would take his chances.</p><p>“What’s it sound like?”</p><p>Several weeks fly by with Freddie and Crowley working side by side on their latest song. Fred formally introduced Crowley to the rest of the band during the recording sessions. Crowley nearly discorporated when he heard Brian May practicing a guitar riff in between takes; he’d become quite fond of the band. Hell, sometimes they had to retape sections of the song because Crowley and Roger kept screwing around, chucking the drumsticks at one another.</p><p>Despite the shenanigans the band and Crowley managed to finish recording on time, the record set to release on December 10th, only a few hours away.</p><p>The band invited Crowley to their album release celebration held in Fred’s home. Despite Fred’s reputation for throwing massive parties they decided to keep things small, mostly out of sympathy for his stoic and somewhat socially-inept friend. They drank heavily, shared stories and laughter, so much so that Crowley didn’t notice when the clock struck midnight.</p><p> </p><p>••••</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale hardly ever left his bookshop. To be frank, he was a bit of a homebody. He was comfortable in the familiarity of his store, it was an organized mess that he could easily navigate. The angel had spent centuries gathering his book collection and making his store feel more like a home; there wasn’t much more he wanted out of life.</p><p>Keyword; much.</p><p>If he had no obligations to Heaven and if he wasn’t such a hedonist he would never leave the shop. The only reasons Aziraphale left his home were for food, blessings, or to visit Crowley. The aforementioned demon was the only reason he was standing outside a record shop, shivering in the nippy December air. While listening to the radio and sipping his morning tea Aziraphale caught wind of a new Queen album coming out. He only recognized the name because Crowley adored the band and was close friends with the lead singer. Aziraphale figured it would be nice to buy a copy of the album for Crowley and give it to him the next time they met, although he had to admit he was intrigued enough he would listen to it a few times himself before then.</p><p>The angel stood in line for hours, feeling out of place dressed in his overcoat, tartan bow tie and loafers. Everyone else had a certain style—he believed Crowley called it grunge?—and his bright color palette stood out among the sea of black and muted toned clothes. He was almost surprised Crowley wasn’t in line.</p><p>Aziraphale eventually made it inside, collected his copy of the album and enjoyed a brisk walk home before popping the vinyl into his record player. The first few chords strummed and Aziraphale had to admit he understood why Crowley liked Queen’s music, it was quite catchy and fast-paced, much like the demon.</p><p>The angel scanned the back of the vinyl case for the song list, his eyes catching on two titles; <em> Somebody to Love </em> and <em> Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy (featuring)— </em></p><p>Aziraphale did a double take, glancing again at the full song title. </p><p><em> Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy (featuring the vocals of Anthony J. Crowley) </em>.</p><p>The angel abandoned the rest of the album, skipping forward to Crowley’s song. Aziraphale moved the needle a few times around before the familiar soothing tone of the demon he’s grown to know flew effortlessly from the record.</p><p>“<em> For my angel </em>,” Crowley spoke earnestly, sweet as honey.</p><p>Aziraphale gasped. If the angel had a heart it would have melted. He leaned closer to the player, giddy with anticipation.</p><p>The song flowed beautifully, every lyric reminding him of the damn demon. He’d clearly consulted Freddie in the songwriting process, that is to say if he had a part in it. </p><p>“<em> I’d like for you and I to go romancing </em>,” Crowley sang. (Lord, how had he not heard Crowley sing before?) Aziraphale wondered if these lyrics were true; did he really want to go out with him?</p><p>The song suddenly took a softer tone, slowing down a bit.</p><p>“<em> When I’m not with you, I think of you always...I miss you </em> ,” Crowley crooned. Aziraphale could almost imagine Crowley’s furrowed eyebrows, him cupping the microphone with his hand as he poured his heart and soul into the music. “ <em> When I’m not with you, think of me always...Love you, love you </em>.”</p><p>The music kicked back up but the last few words still rang in Aziraphale’s mind; love. Does he really love me?</p><p>“<em> Dining at the Ritz, we’ll meet at nine precisely </em>.”</p><p>Aziraphale let out a heartfelt giggle.</p><p>“<em> Driving back in style, in my saloon will do quite nicely, just take me back to yours that will be fine </em>.”</p><p>Aziraphale placed a hand over his soft chest. This...this cannot be real, can it? Surely he’s just dreaming. The angel pinched himself.</p><p>It was no dream.</p><p>“<em> Everything’s all right, just hold on tight, that’s because I’m a good old fashioned lover boy </em> ,” Crowley held out the last note, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but imagine him winking on the button chord. Crowley let out a hearty laugh, ending in a wistful sigh. “ <em> I love you, Angel </em>.”</p><p>The angel spun around in shock, knocking down his cup of cocoa he neglected to clean up this morning. He ignored it, all he could hear was the rush of mock-adrenaline pumping through his whole body.</p><p>Aziraphale let the record continue playing as he rushed across the room. He picked up his coat, pulled on a tartan scarf and rushed out the front door. He miracled himself to the apartment complex Crowley lived in and rushed up the steps to the demon’s address. It was two in the morning, but something told Aziraphale he wasn’t able to sleep either.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale tentatively knocked on the stainless steel door. Anxiety started bubbling in his stomach when he heard Crowley fiddling with the lock on the other side. The door clicked open, swinging inward revealing the well-dressed demon Aziraphale adored.</p><p>“Angel?” Crowley asked, “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”</p><p>“Ehm, no,” Aziraphale stuttered, “Well, you see, I picked up a copy of that Queen album you’ve been talking about, and—”</p><p>“Oh,” everything hit Crowley at once, “Aziraphale I’m so sorry, I should have told you beforehand.”</p><p>Crowley continued stumbling over his words, throwing his glasses to the side to show Aziraphale his earnest honesty. Crowley rambled on and on with apologies and how he didn’t want Aziraphale to find out like this. He fell to his knees, begging the angel for forgiveness. Aziraphale was appalled; he hadn’t done anything wrong. He knelt down in front of Crowley, gently touching his shoulder.</p><p>“Look,” Crowley brushed a few tears from his cheeks, “I understand if you don’t want to—”</p><p>Aziraphale shut him up, grabbing him by the collar and crashing his lips against Crowley’s. The demon gasped, melting like putty in Aziraphale’s plush embrace. Crowley would never admit it, but that night tears streamed down his cheeks as he held Aziraphale’s heavenly chubby cheeks and kissed him with all his might. Their chests collided as Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist. Oh Lord, Crowley’s defined, curvy waist would be the death of him. Aziraphale rested his hands on the slender, feminine curvature, a surprised gasp emitting from Crowley.</p><p>Aziraphale barely removed his lips from the demon’s, “Too much?”</p><p>Crowley shook his head, “Satan no.”</p><p>Crowley dragged Aziraphale into his apartment, kicking the door closed and instantly pressing his lips firmly against Aziraphale’s, leading them towards his pristine white couch. They fell back, Aziraphale nearly landing on top of his friend (lover?). Crowley landed on his back, letting out a laugh. He brought Aziraphale down to lay against his chest, a wide grin painted across his lips.</p><p>“So when are we,” Aziraphale sang the next half, “<em> dining at the Ritz </em>?”</p><p>The demon buried his face in Aziraphale’s hair, ignoring his comment and taking in the moment. After all these years—six thousand years—he had Aziraphale in his arms, so close he could hear the angel’s heartbeat. He reflected on their relationship; nine years ago Aziraphale said he moved too fast and yet in one night the angel confessed his love and kissed Crowley until his lips bruised. He couldn’t help but chuckle at that.</p><p>“And you say I go too fast,” he remarks cheekily.</p><p>“Oh,” Aziraphale nuzzles closer, “Shut it.”</p>
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